Power Hungry Fool
by Nico-Chan
Summary: PoR. Oliver, the Duke of Tanas, has lived his entire life captivated by beautiful things. From the summers of his childhood, to the night of his death. He has always had one wish...


Authors Note: This was a request by my friend MiniNephthys. I've never actually seen an Oliver fic before. I was surprised by how interesting he was to write. I had a lot of fun with this one. I think I can actually…like him…now. It's so weird too. Please review, and if you don't like Oliver but you clicked this anyway try and give it a chance. Maybe you'll be surprised. Also, the title comes from the Fire Emblem OST. It's the title of Oliver's theme.

Enjoy.

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Power Hungry Fool

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Even as a child he had come to appreciate beauty. The villa he had been raised in was furnished with lavish items and radiant artwork. His father's study alone contained rare paintings that he had bought from an auction house which had cost millions. The courtyard was beauteous with a marble fountain of a lovely woman holding a gourd over her head, crystalline water rushing out and landing into the pool at her feet. Hibiscus grew during the warm summers and lined the elegant walkways and oak benches which were set out so one could read and enjoy the glory of the day.

Oliver found himself outside often during the summer. After morning prayer he would go to his favorite bench and sit in the courtyard to admire the flowers. Butterflies and other magnificent creatures would waft around the plants and cast a ethereal feel about the majesty of the garden. Oliver felt a serenity when he was here in this lovely place. A fullness would fill his belly and grow throughout his body until it became a sort of jubilant joy which he didn't feel was capable of expression.

During the winters of his childhood snow would cover the marble woman and freeze the pool at her heels. The flowers would die and the ground would be blanketed in the purest of white. Oliver found this to be beautiful as well. While he missed the fragrant Hibiscus, the sheer purity of the snow made his heart constrict warmly in his chest. He would wait outside until his cheeks became rosy and his toes numb even in his sub-human furred boots. When the cold became too much a maid would usher him inside for a warm meal and a place near the fire.

The fireplace Oliver preferred to sit by was in the magnificent study. A library of books lined the ivory shelves, engaging portraits of nude women adorned the walls and his father's matching ivory desk held the most beautiful sculpture of a large white bird. As a boy he would thumb through the novella before standing before each art piece and thoroughly studying it. Every crevice in the painting, every tone and texture etching into his mind eternally.

When the other boys went outside to play games, and the girls enjoyed tea in the lounge room, Oliver would separate himself from them all and instead search for anything in the premises that contained a hint of elegance. Once he came across the most amazing sculpture of a tall man with the fairest face Oliver had ever seen. His nose was petite and perfectly proportional with his dusky eyes. His mouth was small and turned downwards in an melancholy expression which added a flare of dark beauty to his countenance. His hair came in curls around his face in a flawless tumbling fashion, draping past the nape of his neck and covering his ears.

Oliver was awed.

Two days later Oliver's father bought the statue and had the sub-human slaves move it directly into his son's chambers. Oliver was thrilled when he woke up to see it standing in magnificence before him. He danced and sang and fawned over his present, deciding to let no one see it but himself. Such perfection belonged only to those who could appreciate it, Oliver knew, and so none of his friends were ever allowed to step foot in his chambers from that day on.

When the summer came again Oliver returned to the garden to admire the Hibiscus growing. It was then that Oliver asked his mother for permission to redress the garden to his desires. With her consent he immediately had the sub-human slaves get to work. He had a walkway of marble lead away from the effigy of the woman towards a new area where he had flowers planted in an oval shape. His choice of flower was the tiger lily, which he anxiously awaited to bloom.

The seasons came and went and as they did Oliver spent time in his own company. He preferred the solitude which gave him a chance to think and write long, elegant sonnets appraising the wealth and fortune of the arts, the glamour and style associated with beauty. His obsession grew daily and he began to deplore the sight of his aging mother and father, neither of whom fit his particular standard of beauty.

One day while attending the bewitching opera 'The White Lily Maiden' he was astonished when the lead wandered on stage. Her golden hair fell about her in a peculiar way, over her shoulders and down her back, nearly sweeping the floor in elegance. Her face was small and feminine, and her body was diminutive yet with a slight curve from her hips and breasts. Her eyes were a lucid blue color, more pleasing than the sky. When she opened her mouth it was soft and lovely, chaste and moving. By the end of her aria Oliver found himself a blubbering mess, tears streaming down his slightly rounded face.

Her name was Kate.

She was startled when he sauntered into her dressing room unannounced, throwing herself up with a innocent gasp. Oliver couldn't hold back the lust from his eyes but remained a rooms distance away from the songstress as he expressed his devotion. She was flattered, if not unnerved, but accepted his invitation for dinner at his manor.

Sitting across from him, illuminated by the candlelight, he thought she resembled a member of the graceful heron tribe. Deciding that he had found the most beautiful woman in the world he decided he would have to have her. He planned their next meeting in his mind and quickly went to work setting preparations. He spent the entire night working on ballads like a mad man, trying desperately to find something equal to her beauty. He found the words he wrote were flowery but vapid. Nothing could express the intense longing her had for her countenance. Her fair face. Her body. She was like a goddess. So lovely, so _chaste_.

Retiring to his chambers he stared long at the statuette of the beautiful man. He sought inspiration from the figure before him, and sat hunched over for a long time. When the sun finally rose, softly rousing the citizens of Begnion from their slumber did he have an epiphany. His muse inspired, Oliver rushed out of the room, the need for rest quelled by his impatience, and hurried towards town.

That night the opera was playing again. Oliver made his way towards Kate's dressing room after the show and again entered unannounced. She frowned at him and asked him to leave but instead he moved into the room and shut the door behind him. She became apprehensive and slowly backed towards the wall. Attempting to soothe her he asked her to sit. She politely refused, her face turned into a scowl. In his mind Oliver cried as the unhappy expression tried to destroy the regal bearing of her face.

He presented her with jewelry, the finest of diamonds, rubies and pearls. Shimmering gold to adorn her hair and hands with. Bracelets, earrings, necklaces, rings, tiaras, all glittering expensively on her dressing table. Kate stared in awe at the spectacle before her. Before she could speak Oliver asked for her to be his, and overwhelmed, she agreed.

By the end of the week the play ended and Kate moved her few belongings into the Tanas Manor. Oliver was beside himself and catered to her every whim. When she was hungry she would be fed the finest fruits and vegetables as well as the darkest chocolate treats. When bored he would hire entertainers to gallivant around the room with her to keep her joyous. At times like these Oliver would sit in the corner and watch her through half-lidded eyes, his expression blissful. Watching her graceful movements across the decorated carpets, her hair swing wildly like a petticoat, he found her to be the most magnificent creature he had ever seen.

She slept across the manor in her own room. Oliver did not want to sully her purity, for without it her glow would be gone forever. So she stayed away at night and early in the mornings they would attend prayer together before having a extravagant breakfast. She would sometimes sit outside and sing to the birds and admire the flowers. The first time Oliver found her like that he knew he had to have her painted. Artist after artist came and tried to make a portrait of her but he did not find any suitable. None of the artists captured the elegant radiance from her eyes, the shine of brilliance of her hair, or the wholesome quirk of her tiny lips.

For days she would sit in the sun and wait as Oliver filtered through the artists who failed to capture her angelic charm. As time passed she would idle her thoughts and stare into the distance emptily .Oliver knew her restless must have come from the displeasure of the untalented failures who were in her presence so often. He sympathized but knew that he would not be able to sleep well until the artwork he dreamt of was his.

Then one day his prayers were answered. A tall, roguishly handsome man was on his step one morning and Oliver allowed him to try his trade. The duke was flabbergasted when the man's sample portrait was exactly as he had seen in his dreams. He immediately made arrangements with the artist to come everyday from morning to noon to work on his art.

The days came and went and every day the artist would come to the courtyard with Kate. Oliver would take the time to tend to his duties in the Begnion courts during the mornings.  
One day when returning he was elated to see Kate dancing with herself about the Great Hall, humming a sweet melody to herself. The pleasure she must receive from seeing the amazing art brought Oliver to tears and he had to cover his face with a handkerchief.

Every night Oliver would check the art work which the artist would leave in his study when he was finished before retiring home. He found himself amazed that the other man could capture her beautiful glow, her innocent luminosity and see it in the exact same way he himself did.

One night changed everything.

Oliver returned from his attendance to the Apostle's court and froze in shock when he came upon the terrace. There his lovely Kate stood with her body against the artist's, their mouths pressed together in heated passion. His large, grimy, hands traced her lithe backside and her arms wrapped around his thick neck. The sight was so grotesque Oliver cried out in pain. The two broke their engagement and stood in shock, staring at the raging duke in fear.

Oliver scream until his face turned a comical shade of red, the artist scurrying out of the manor. With only Kate left, he turned his rage to her and backhanded her roughly. She fell to the floor in a heap of tears. He looked down at her by his feet, her babbling like screeching in his ears. Her eyes were red and her cheeks puffed out as tears ran down her face. Oliver realized she had been hiding her ugliness behind her makeup. He commented her acting skills, as her play at a virginal maiden had even him fawning over her like a fool.

When she refused to stop crying he yanked her up by her shoulders and shook her roughly. Her head rolled back and forth as his hands tightened and he began screaming at her, his rage filling the atmosphere. He rocked her harder until she went limp, her head lulled to the side unnaturally. He dropped her in disgust, her body crumpling on the ground, and stalked inside.

She was gone the next day.

When Oliver woke and had breakfast, skipping prayer, he could see the soldiers he commanded moving her things out of her room quietly. He went outside to watch the men carry her things into the forest. He hoped they were burning them. He didn't want corrupted filth in his lovely home.

Disillusioned Oliver decided to trust only the art he held so dear. The ancient romantic poetry and grandiose watercolor paintings became his sole companion as he grew older. As time passed his hair receded and his body expanded. He paid no heed however, and everyday would stand before the mirror and speak to himself with a proud voice. Assure himself he was beautiful.

Dealing with illegal affairs came second nature to Oliver. As long as he had what he wanted he could be satisfied. He paid the high prices that the raven sub-human scum threw his way for anything he could get his hands on. Soon he met Naesala, the King of Ravens himself. Together they began a partnership of plundering ships and robbing them of their precious cargo; their art.

He was pleased until the day he saw beauty personified. The day he saw a living heron noble.

Something awoke within the pits of Oliver's soul. The bitterness of Kate's betrayal completely died, leaving only ashes in it's wake. The need for things that were lovely began to take hold. There was nothing more beautiful than a heron noble. So pure and gentle. Long golden hair more stunning than the sun, and skin the tone of alabaster, with fair white wings sprouting from his dainty back in the most elegant manner conceivable.

Oliver had to have him.

It wasn't long before his dream was realized and he was standing in the room with the object of his desires. The difference from Kate was obvious. Even the most perfect human could not compare with the radiance of a Serenes noble. Even with his face twisted into fierce anger the beautiful bird was breathtaking. When he transformed Oliver was forced to stop and catch his breath. The regal creature matched the sculpture of the white bird his father once kept in his study. However, so close to the real creature, Oliver found that the effigy did not do the Serenes justice.

When the heron escaped Oliver was resolved not to loose him. He quarried his men together and hurried into the depths of the Serenes Forest. He knew his beauty would not be able to hide among the dreary trees and dead ground. He waded through mud and felt crooked branches dig into his sides but ignored the pain he felt, refusing to give up on the rarest creature he had ever laid eyes upon.

When he learnt that they were competing with a lowly band of mercenaries to find the prince his heart sped up. He felt a familiar urgency rise in his chest and hurried his movement ignoring the stains his bright robe was taking, forgoing the thought that defying the apostle meant certain death.

When he saw the Serenes again it was in the mercenary commanders arms. He demanded the heron to be returned to him promptly and was shocked to discover that the heron in the mercenary's arms was not his heron but a female noble. Unable to get a good glimpse at her, Oliver could only imagine what a glamorous catch she would make. His fingers tingled in frigid anticipation. He quickly set his men off and hurried to safety, hoping to find the prince while his men secured the female heron. A giddy excitement grew within him as he sloshed through the swampy muck, his feet becoming momentarily stuck in gunk.

His men fell all around him but Oliver could only keep his goal on his mind, his greed overtaking his every thought. Soon he was the only person left remaining of his men. As he fought the mercenaries he summoned all his energies to channel the light energy from his tome to his opponents battle-weary bodies. One girl cried out in pain as the light smashed forcefully into her shoulder, knocking her off balance and into the arms of sub-human who carted her off to the priest on their side.

He fought valiantly, thinking only of the two herons and how they could be his, how he could gaze upon them everyday. Like sunrise he would watch their beautiful faces and gaze at them for an eternity.

As he lay on the dirty ground, mud surrounding him on all sides, blood coating his hands and staining his robe he starred upwards at the dark treetops with their ominous branches. The sky was dark and uninviting. He couldn't help but think back to his childhood when he would sit outside amongst the Hibiscus and enjoy the warm sunshine on his face, or the times sitting by the fireplace and starring at the artwork surrounding him in boyish amazement.

And for the first time in his life he doubted himself.

Wondering if beauty was forever.


End file.
